Jarod Kintz
This is it, this is my biography. The story of Jarod Kintz begins now.
Let’s knock out the trivial first. I was born in Salt Lake City on March 5th. Now that you know my birthday, please feel free to get me birthday presents. Notice how I used the plural, presents? More than one gift would be greatly appreciated. Appropriate gifts include gold coins, bars of silver, and large tracts of land (preferably beachfront property). Or you could just buy me a drink—soda, natural, because I don’t drink either alcohol or high fructose corn syrup.
Skipping ahead a few years, and a few hundred miles, we come to Denver, Colorado. For a few years I attended Mackintosh Academy. In the second grade, along with English, I studied French, Spanish, and Japanese. Out of all those language classes, I remember one word: Andrea. That was my girlfriend at the time, the one who left me for my best friend. I guess I remember two words, as I remember his name too, but his name is almost sacred, as a name that shall never be uttered.
Right after second grade ended my family moved to Jacksonville, Florida. It was Jacksonville that I would come to know as home, and would attend the rest of my schooling until college.
At this point I was a mediocre student. I believe I had a perfect 2.0 grade point average from third grade until I graduated from high school. My favorite classes were art, P.E., and lunch. Oh, is one of those not a class? No way—I believe art is still considered a class.
When not cracking jokes in class, I would be doing one of three things: drawing, passing notes, or sleeping. In high school I started to not only be mentally absent from class, but physically gone too. I’d skip class like a flat rock skips across a pond.
After high school, it was on to college. In all I have attended six colleges. I bounced around like a dodgeball on a trampoline. If you count the college classes I took starting my junior year of high school, then I got my four-year degree in nine years. And if you’re going to do something, you might as well do it at least twice as well as everybody else—or at least at least twice as long.
I graduated with an English degree from the University of Florida, but I took creative writing classes from both UF and Florida State University. All though college I fancied myself a fancy man, because I was an aspiring writer. Mostly I wrote t-shirt slogans and other pithy things. In the spring of 2005 I did manage to sell a line of t-shirts to Urban Outfitters.
That is my lone success in life. Seriously. Well, so far anyway. But my story is just beginning. I plan on failing my way to success. I have been rejected by literary agents, publishers, MFA programs, all sorts of women. But still I keep writing.
I have written many “books,” and I use the term books loosely. Mostly they are just compilations of my random thoughts and one-liners. But I like writing them, and people seem to like reading them. and that’s what it’s all about, right?
All my books are self-published, either through iUniverse or the wonderful Amazon Kindle program. I encourage everybody to write. Share yourself with the world. If there is one thing I like to impress upon people, it’s that you can do it, even if you can’t. Just keep can’ting until eventually you can. And you can quote me on that.
“When the going gets tough, the tough give thanks for their mountain bike. I’m so rugged even cavemen would call me Xtreme. At least that’s what that Neanderthal barista who made my drink said under his breath when he uttered—or muttered—“This guy is extreme.”
“He was an introverted kid, so I didn’t send him to his room as punishment. No, I took him to a party.”
“When I didn’t know him I punched him in the face. The best part about him is his nose.”
“I ought to fire one of my two employees into the other one’s asshole.”
“There is no other way. Thankfully I’m here, and not there.”
“Thomas Jefferson is by far the smartest president,” said Thomas Jefferson, about Thomas Jefferson, and to Thomas Jefferson. Even though he was only the third president, he might be surprised to learn that today. I myself just learned it yesterday.”
“I could sure do without doing without.”
“I went dumpster diving the other day, and each of the judges gave me a perfect score of 10.”
“I’m in like Flynn, as the saying goes. But why is it going? It just got here.”
“I wanted to make love in the rain, but owing to unfavorable (or, rather favorable) weather conditions, I took to the shower as a suitable substitute.”
“My 30th birthday will be arriving in a few months. It’s not arriving unexpectedly, I just wish it would have given me more of an advance notice, say another 30 years.”
“Orafoura doesn’t know shit about what I said, said Orafoura, quoting The Mythical Mr. Boo to me about the shit that’s been said about him.”
“My birthday is coming up. I was born on March 5th, 1982. Humans have come a long way since then—nearly 30 years, if my math is good. And my math better be good, because if my math’s no good, what’s that leave? I mean aside from English, art, science, social studies, history, geography, P.E., recess, and of course, lunch. ”
“Cher and share alike. At least in sound. Most of the decisions I make are sound, exactly like Beethoven when he wrote and discarded his 10th symphony.”
“After my first coaching experience, the field looked more like Gettysburg than a normal defeat. But it wasn’t that bad, as only about half my team lay dead, while the rest were merely dying.”
“I called to tell her I loved her, which was smart, because if I’d have done it in person, I’d have caught her with another man. I don’t care if he was my clone, it isn’t right and it pisses me off. I was backstabbed by myself. ”
“Do I own my soul, or would two of my clones?”
“Only the living can read. This means that when I write, my target market is people of the future. Greetings, people of the moon! ”
“There’s nothing nine-tenths about me as a person. I’m a 100% kind of guy, at least half the time. ”
“I had an out-of-body experience so strange that it felt normal. You see, my soul, or essence, had left my body and went and inhabited the body of my clone. So I wasn’t in my body, and yet I was. Or maybe none of that happened, and I was just in a delirious, sleep-deprived state.”
“I went to a football game once and got punched in the face, but you couldn’t tell because I was already sitting in the nosebleed section.”
“Webster’s—the original high definition entertainment.”
“The man lying on the sofa seemed friendly. But how friendly could he really be if he was a liar? ”
“I’d like to file a missing person’s report—on my clone. It’s nearly 2012. He should have been here by now.”
“I need a Caution: Slippery When Wet sign, because I just spilled my ego all over the floor. ”
“God ordered the world and all things in it, and I ordered a pizza and all things on it.”
“Too bad Americans can’t export Awesome, because I have boxes and boxes of the stuff just lying around in my attic.”
“Thirty three thousand, three hundred and thirty three things. That’s all I need to get by. Oh, and I guess I also need love. Better make that thirty three thousand, three hundred and thirty four.”
“I have a beard of fog that I wear on misty mornings. It’s not cigarette smoke, but I’d understand if you wanted to shave it off and inhale it.”
“Question for your life: If there were a fountain machine that dispensed destruction instead of soda, would you grab an extra large cup?”
“Would you mind a mind blindfold, a block on your imagination? You couldn’t create a fantasy world to live in, but you could create a life for yourself without irrational fears of the future.”
“Question for your life: If you could change War’s name, do you think you’d change its nature?”
“Question for your life: If love covered as much of the earth’s surface as the oceans, would you still urinate in your wetsuit?”
“Question for your life: If Ted Kennedy made it to heaven, do you think he’s pleased with the fact that Jesus can turn water into wine?”
“Question for your life: If your face looked like your ass, and I’m not implying it doesn’t, would you consider invading Russia in the middle of winter wearing only shorts?”
“Question for your life: If Socrates had a clone, would he advise that clone to know thy self, or to know myself, with myself in this case being himself?”
“Question for your life: What is the price of love, and would you rather tally it with an abacus or an early 90s calculator watch?”
“Question for your life: If we were to kiss passionately for 30 minutes, would you refill my oxygen tank in the process?”
“Question for your life: Let’s say we’re on a date, and I’m being all seductive by talking nonstop about such interesting topics as intergalactic nano armies and the precise elevation at which a really tall building becomes a skyscraper, how would you respond if I invited you back to my grandma’s house for a passionate night of love making?”
“Question for your life: If love existed an octave above where your vocal range ended, would you buy a dog whistle to get my attention?”
“Question for your life: If the man of your dreams existed in two dimensions only, would you try to print duplicates of him?”
“Question for your life: Would you rather be the first female U.S. President, the first woman to walk on the moon, or the first woman to be courted by two clones who looked like Christian Bale?”
“I hired a counterfeiter the other day. I told him, “As for your salary, how much you make is really up to you.” I love a business model where the employee pays the employer.”
“I’ve found newspapers only useful as kindling material for campfires. It’s been said that newspaper articles are written at a fifth grade reading level. If so, I can’t figure out why journalists would write something that the average high school senior can’t even read.”
“I left a jar in the doorway to leave the door ajar, but love never walked in.”
“I’m reminded of Orville Tethington, inventor of the world’s first steam-powered fog machine. He’s also the guy who, after the Germans invented the flame thrower in WWI, decided to counteract it with his own creation, the candle thrower. The candle thrower was only battle tested once, and after fifteen minutes the war zone was littered with lit candles. Upon returning home after the war, some of the soldiers suffered such extreme and bizarre cases of PTSD that anytime a civilian lit a match or used their lighter, the soldiers would hit the ground and start singing “Happy Birthday.”
“None of us nine with the sixes. That’s the tragedy of love.”
“It’s me and you, or me and knitting. Don’t make me choose. Ugh, #love.”
“We made eyes at each other, and then we made love. We also made other things too, like meatloaf.”
“Time is such a waste of time to think about, because the longer you ponder it, the more of it you lose. And before you know it, you don’t know it, because you are nothing but dusty worm food.”